


Ask Me Something Easier

by clutzycricket



Series: Seven Kingdoms, Two Worlds [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Background Character Death, Crossover, F/M, Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 21:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10258925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/clutzycricket
Summary: Sansa Stark is never quite sure what happens when she leaves the Vale, except that it has to be better than her last trip to King's Landing. Uncomfortable questions aside, that is.Also, discussions of marriage aside. Though they are often the same thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jason Robert Brown's And I Will Follow.

_ He wondered how badly she would take it if he offered her sympathy. He had only heard second hand reports of what she had needed to deal with, though Lady Dayne had made her opinion of what she would do if he tried to make this difficult very clear. He was clearly doomed to have to deal with terrifying redheads in any universe. - Stinging and Older _

The new Queen wasn’t what Sansa had expected at all.

Sansa had… not nightmares, Alayne-who-she-had-been wouldn’t have nightmares about poisonous words and sneering figures carved out of ivory and gold. Littlefinger hadn’t helped, when he’d heard about the new, shocking news of a Targaryen Queen riding south, Alysanne Mormont and Asha Greyjoy at her side, one of Oberyn Martell’s daughters meeting her at the Twins. 

“The brat was rumored to have died, back in the Sack,” Petyr had said. “How are we to know that she isn’t a pretender, like the other one?”

His messenger, a lean woman with close-cropped red hair fading to silver, snorted. “Baelish- sorry,  _ my lord _ \- only one woman in Westeros would have eyes like that. One as dark as Nymeria Sand’s, one as purple as anything. Jeyne Swann came up from the Stormlands, said she was the image of Elia Martell, save for them.”

“Jeyne Swann is a woman of very dubious reputation,” Petyr said, frowning. “Well, we’ll have to deal with it.”

Winterfell, she thought, not letting it show on her face. If the new Queen was with Lady Mormont’s daughter, perhaps she’d allow Sansa to return to Winterfell.

~

The new Queen had _Bran and_ _Rickon_.

Oh, she’d kept it quiet, but Sansa heard the rumors of a boy who needed a chair, with startling red hair, and a young boy, and two enormous wolves. They were heading to Riverrun, and she might see them soon.

She did not tell Petyr, and Petyr did not tell Sansa.

There was a disquieting thought, that with their lives Winterfell was no longer hers. Not that she wasn’t thrilled, that she hadn’t spent several dizzying moments dreaming of seeing them again, but if she was no longer heiress to Winterfell, what need would Littlefinger have of her?

She wanted someone to talk to about this- Myranda, who looked suspiciously at her hair as the dye began to fade, and had taken to riding between her and Petyr with a uncharacteristically firm set to her mouth, but didn’t know most of it yet; Mya, who wouldn’t react terribly, but would be sensible and understanding and guarding Robin in the Gates of the Moon; Margaery, if she had truly been one of Sansa’s friends, and would talk her out of any fears; Jeyne, who was who knows where and would spin wild fantasies for them both; even Arya, who would scowl at Petyr and be terribly impolite but horridly  _ practical _ about the prospect of Petyr turning on them.

She didn’t allow herself to think about her mother, who would turn over the options in the softest words while brushing out her curls, and allowing Sansa to do up her braid, a quiet and soft moment of peace. 

Perhaps Jon would even be with them- if the Queen had come from the Wall, and the wildling women with her and Shireen Baratheon meant that was likely, maybe he would be there, and he’d know what might endear her to the new Queen. 

(Though Jon was terribly oblivious about things like that, Sansa had to admit, even after all this time of thinking he was her only living relative, save Robin, who Sansa had managed to leave in Yohn Royce’s care. Not that Petyr would realize it, but Myranda had been amused by her careful words about Harry’s grandmother. And, she had to admit, eager for the chance to cause a rift between Harry and Alayne Stone. Just discarded pawns, she thought, hiding the chill down her spine. Or not entirely discarded, just put aside for when Petyr could have use of them again.)

She saw the banners, Stark wolves, Mormont Bears, the tree of the Blackwoods, Pipers, Glover, Greyjoy,a host from the Stormlands and Reach, a mix that had not been seen, probably, since the war of the Ninepenny Kings. And above them all, a scarlet dragon with three heads, and a smaller one, a crowned dragon twined around a bronze spear that must be the Queen’s device..

~

Events moved very quickly, after that.

Someone had found Petyr out- a spy from the Eyrie, one of the Reacher knights reporting that those in King’s Landing had pieced things together, Sansa was never entirely sure, not until the Queen had seen fit to explain, years later, when discussing a marriage contract for her children.

They had been escorted to the Queen’s command tent- what Petyr had scoffed and called the Court of Orphans, Ruffians, and Discards, back when they carefully worked their way around Maidenpool.

Sansa’s hair was more red then brown, at this point, and she wore a grey wool dress that was plain enough for Alayne Stone, while falling elegantly enough for Sansa Stark. She watched the crowds, startling a bit at the sight of a man who had her mother’s blue gaze and something of Robb in his stride and build. A Robb who had lived, and become lord of Winterfell, or King in the North, ruling a long time.

“Blackfish Tully,” Petyr said, looking slightly uneasy. “I was told he was swallowed by the Neck.”

“People do  _ live _ in the Neck, though I never understood why,” Myranda laughed. “Perhaps one of them took pity on him.”

The crannogmen were always loyal to House Stark, and perhaps to their kin in turn, Sansa thought, crossly. They were good and true men, who had never betrayed their lords. Not like the nest of intrigue in King’s Landing, or the Vale, for that matter.

The Blackfish was not at Court while they arrived. Bran was, however, sitting with Shireen Baratheon and talking about something with a fierce look of concentration on his face. Sansa nearly stumbled, and Lothor Brune caught her elbow.

“Courage,” he whispered, and Sansa straightened her shoulders.

The Queen was sitting on a chair that had probably been borrowed hastily from a conquered castle, wearing a hastily mended black dress and an infant on a sling. Despite the air of chaos, there was a stillness about the woman, a cleverness in her eyes, and Sansa realized this was not another Cersei Lannister.

“Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a curtsy. 

“Sansa?” Bran looked shocked, hands gripping the wheels of his chair. “Sansa!”

“Bran, I’ve missed you,” she said, looking anxiously at the Queen, who nodded. She flung herself at him, laughing and crying and not catching Myranda’s satisfied look. “I thought you were  _ dead _ .”

“Lord Baelish,” the Queen said, her voice decidedly frosty, “I would have a word with you.”

Sansa looked at Petyr, who would… she shook her head and whispered in Bran’s ear, “I need to tell someone something very important, and very quickly.”

“Princess Arianne,” Bran whispered back. “Or Ser Davos, or Jon, but he’s with Harry. Princess Arianne’d be best.”

“Jon is here?” Sansa said. She had hoped, but…

“We have a story for you,” Bran said, and since when where his eyes that  _ peculiar _ shade of green? Her memory must be playing tricks on her…

~

Princess Arianne was a tiny woman, smaller than the queen, who wore dresses in a curious style of layering, revealing different patterns and materials. She was also kind, not quite in the same manner of Margaery, but she enjoyed being around people.

“You played a merry trick on all of them, didn’t you?” she asked. “Renee will want to know all about it, but she’s trying to piece together exactly how Baelish is going to lie.” She tilted her head. “Did you kill Joffrey, then?”

“No! Yes… well, not knowingly, Ser Dontos gave me a hairnet, and I wore it to the wedding, and he said it was made of garnets from Asshai, that it was magic, but he was terribly drunk, and I saved his life, so I wasn’t quite sure what to think, and then one of the stones went missing, and then he told me he had an escape plan, that I’d be blamed, and I didn’t know what to  _ do _ . If I was beaten for being a traitor’s sister and daughter, what would happen if they thought I killed Joffery? Then there was a boat, and Lord Petyr, and Dontos died, and he told me… he told me that he’d set it up with Lady Olenna,” she added, not quite sure if she should mention this. What if no one believed her? “But I don’t think they trusted each other much.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Arianne said, scooping up a cup. “I’d offer wine, but I suspect we shall both need a clear head for this.”

Sansa took a sip from the water. “I was sorry about what happened to Prince Oberyn. He and Lady Ellaria loved each other very much. I didn’t know he’d…”

“Neither did my father, though he should have expected it,” Arianne replied, rearranging herself on the couch. “Did Lady Olenna know what Lord Petyr planned, do you think?”

“No, no,” Sansa said. “I think… I think Lady Olenna wanted me in Highgarden- she wanted me married to Lord Willas before the Lannisters found out. He didn’t like that idea. I do think Lady Olenna dropped the poison in the cup, but Petyr said he arranged for the dwarf jousters, to make Tyrion angry.”

“It all sounds like a terrible muddle,” Arianne said, “Though I have no doubt it made sense to them.”

“Joffrey was a monster,” Sansa didn’t think, and froze. “He  _ was _ . But his mother loved him.”

“From what I’ve heard about him, his death was a tragedy to no one else,” Arianne nodded. “So the Tyrells wanted Joffrey gone to replace with the more pliable Tommen, saving their daughter with no end of grief,” Arianne mused. “And Lord Petyr wanted… well, I can only guess.”

“He said he wanted to confuse them, and…” Sansa frowned. “I think he found it convenient, and if Tyrion had died, it would make it less difficult to marry me off to Harry Hardying.”

Slowly, Arianne charmed the rest of the story out of her, easy charm mixing with concern. Genuine concern, Sansa thought -hoped. But her hands were tense on the grip of her chair when Sansa told her about Aunt Lysa’s death, and her hesitant admissions about what she’d overheard. 

“After all this, sweet Sansa,” Arianne said slowly, “I can be sure that my cousin will easily take your side on this. It will be easier after King’s Landing, of course. The Tyrells can be dealt with easily enough- consolation and threat in equal measures.”

“I don’t… Margaery was as kind as she could,” Sansa said. “It would have been easier, to be nothing but cruel, or distant, the entire time. Even afterwards, she drew away, but she wasn’t cruel.”

“It is kind of you to worry about someone who doesn’t deserve it,” Arianne said, patting her hand. “But my cousin is a sweet woman, who probably does not deserve the messes we leave on her lap.”

Sansa smiled at that.

~

The Queen met her later, privately. There were two children with her- Princess Lilias, who she had given birth to as the Wall fell- and a small boy who was perhaps younger than Rickon had been, when she had left Winterfell.

“Thank you for speaking with Arianne, Lady Sansa,” the Queen said. She had a lovely low voice, and Sansa thought there was kindness in her.

She hoped so, at least. This woman had all three of her living brothers in this camp.

“I thank you for allowing me to speak with her,” Sansa responded, dipping slightly. “It was… she was very kind, and I believe we managed to get some important information.”

“I am merely glad we got to you before Ser Shadrich,” the Queen mused. Later, when she learned about the intercepted ravens and a man posing as a hedge knight in the tourney she had hosted, reporting to Doran Martell, that comment would make a worrying amount of sense. “You have gone through more than you should have, Sansa.”

“I survived it, Your Grace, and that is more than most can say,” she said. Then she remembered what Arianne had said about the Queen’s late husband, who had died shortly before Rhaenys had arrived at the Wall, and how she had taken in his orphaned nephew.

“It’s alright,” Rhaenys said, as if reading her mind. “I’m a bit tired of everyone dancing around the topic. Sirius died trying to protect us, and trying to avenge James and Lily’s murder… though occasionally I wonder which was more important to him.”

“Surely it was protecting you,” Sansa said.

“Oh, I wish that were the case,” Rhaenys… grumbled?  _ I will never understand her _ , Sansa thought. “Sirius loved me, I do realize that, but he had a temper, and a sense of… I’m not quite sure how to put it.”

“Honor, justice?” Sansa supplied.

“Well, if you put it that way, I suppose it will be endearing to an audience around here,” Rhaenys murmured. “Can I keep you around just to interpret?” The last was so soft Sansa thought it safe to pretend not to hear.

Despite everything, there was something grieving in their Queen, a quiet loneliness Sansa knew only too well.

“Where did you find my brothers?” she asked. “I mean, Your Grace, I was told that they died.”

Rhaenys smiled, and started explaining about Coldhands, the Children, and a story so fantastical Sansa was not completely sure she believed it.

~

Sansa had never quite left King’s Landing. Part of it was that someone needed to fight for her family and their rights, to make sure that Jeyne was safe and cared for, now that Winterfell had too many ghosts for her, to support her uncle and great-uncle, to try and help fix what Petyr had done. Aly Mormont had taken Bran and Rickon back to Winterfell, with Osha the Wildling and Jon both as guardians. (Sansa tried her hardest to ignore the flicker of guilt and regret on the Queen’s face when Jon announced it.)

 

Then Arya came back, and Sansa’s meeting with her sister was bittersweet and complicated, and Arya returned to Winterfell and Sansa did not follow.

 

Some of it was, Sansa would never admit to anyone, that Sansa was sixteen, had spent five long years struggling to survive, and the Queen was so very  _ kind _ . The older woman had listened to Sansa’s fears, and her story, and used that to adjust her plans towards King’s Landings.

 

“After all,” Sansa told Edric Dayne, trying not to smile, “you do see a bit more of people when they consider you weak and harmless, and it would be a waste if I didn’t use what I’ve learned.”

 

...Thinking it over, she should have realized that talking with Edric Dayne so much would lead to complications. He was a good person, she had to admit, loyal and true. He had been there with the thing wearing her mother’s face, had been there when it was sent to rest. He’d defended her when some of the lords tried to say she should be exiled, that the Starks should have their lands and titles stripped from them.

 

(He didn’t actually  _ need _ to, as Rhaenys and Princess Arianne clearly disagreed, but it was still sweet.)

 

He proposed when they were both nine and ten, walking along the Godswood.

 

She froze when he said the words, her heart seeming to pound.

 

“May I think on it? Only, I must make sure that I have no looming obligations,” she said, words tripping over each other.

 

Stupid, Sansa, she thought, you are going to hurt him.

 

But he looked understanding. “Go and speak with the Queen, then.”

 

She did not run, she was too trained in her courtesies for that. 

 

It was summer, and the Queen was doing some paperwork in a rose garden overlooking the Blackwater. Her husband had it designed for her, when she was carrying Prince Matthew. (And any questions about the boy’s name were explained with a quiet explanation that he was named after the man who took her in as a child. Knowing how deeply Rhaenys missed the Leighs, Sansa, Margaery, Desmera, Jorelle, and her other ladies did not press. Indeed, they kept others from pressing, as well.)

 

It was a peaceful place, with stone benches tucked into a wall, and roses climbing up and framing a softened view of the Blackwater.

 

Margaery looked up, smiling faintly. Her friend- and they were truly friends now, with most of the past tucked away under mutual hurts and scars- had remained unmarried, tartly commenting that burying three husbands was quite enough for her, though she might remarry if the King and Queen needed anyone else to die in short order.

 

It had effectively silenced any offers, though the King dryly commented that it nearly carried off Lord Mace. The Hand had hoped to marry Margaery off to someone useful. 

 

Margaery also would not gossip, nor would the Blackwood knight guarding them. Hoster Blackwood remembered, after all, that Queen Rhaenys was a (distant) cousin, and that her forces had rescued him when he was held hostage by the Lannisters.

 

“Lord Dayne has asked me to marry him,” Sansa said, after Rhaenys had gestured for her to take a seat.

 

“Desmera owers me that bit of lace, then,” Margaery said, smiling and ignoring the Queen’s sharp look. 

 

“How do I…” Sansa stopped. “After Joffrey, and Lord Baelish’s plans, and Tyrion, how do I know that this is something good? How do I say yes? How is it possible to know?” She looked at them both. “How did you figure it out?”

 

It occurred to her that both of the women were widowed, and that the Queen was married to Margaery’s brother. Who Sansa, at one point, was going to wed.

 

(Which would, she admitted, probably have been quite pleasant. Willas was sweet, and clever, and loved Matthew and Lilias equally. But Edric, part of her pointed out, made her laugh, looked at her as if no one else was around, and did not make her feel like a green girl.)

 

“...I,” the Queen paused, and Sansa wondered if she finally made a misstep, if she had enraged her and caused the death of all of Winterfell’s hopes.

 

It was foolish, she knew, but old fears died hard.

 

“I fell in love with Sirius both very quickly and very slowly,” Rhaenys said. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it was…   _ easy _ , falling in with him, and it was just as easy to pretend it was just friendship, at first. Then things… changed, and it was kind of terrifying. But Sirius, he… there was something terribly certain about him. When he died…” She closed her eyes. “I wanted to scream, and throw things, to argue with whatever power that it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right,  _ how could they do this _ .”

 

“Oh, I know that feeling,” Margaery said, quietly. “Renly and I were little more than friends, but we respected each other, and supported the other’s dreams and ambitions. Our temperaments were complimentary, and he adored my family. All of this was what I was taught to consider a wonderful marriage. Then, of course, he died.”

 

“I think Joffrey on his own is a strong and almost textbook version of what not to chose,” Rhaenys added. “Judging by your stories.”

 

Used to the queen’s occasional odd turn of phrase, Margaery nodded. “I do not think Edric Dayne is anything like that, in public or in private.” She tucked aside her needlework. “Indeed, I think what Edric Dayne chooses to show the world is… what he would be in private.” She wrinkled her nose. “It sounded much better in my head.”

 

“There is something wonderful about someone comfortable wearing their heart on their sleeve,” Rhaenys added, a faint wistfulness in her voice. “Though it depends on the circumstances.”

 

“Competence is also a wonderful trait,” Margaery said, trying to lighten the tone of the conversation. Or steer the Queen away from old memories.

 

Rhaenys let out a small laugh. “Especially when you have no clue what is going on, and then someone actually  _ explains _ things to you.”

 

“Oh, I remember the  _ look  _ on your face when my brother broke off Father’s speeches to lay everything out,” Margaery said. “Especially the things Father was hoping you didn’t notice.”

 

“I think that was the first time I realized that I might be able to trust him,” the Queen admitted. “I’d been running fairly short on trust in general, before that.”

 

Sansa suspected that the Queen was still not a terribly trusting woman, just able to work around that lack of trust in a way that would have baffled Sansa’s father.

 

After everything that had happened over the last eight years, Sansa wasn’t sure that she could marry someone she did not trust. She needed someone she could trust without reserve, even if the thought was slightly terrifying.

 

She did trust Edric, she admitted. It was only that… she tried to ignore it, because it was terrifying.

 

“I think you would be afraid no matter what, Lady Sansa,” the Queen said, sending a mild look in the direction of Hoster Blackwood, who had backed behind some shrubbery to give the ladies an illusion of privacy. He was a good person, and rather imposing, being as tall as the Hound, but the youngest of the Kingsguard was perhaps not the most graceful of knights.

 

“I think so,” she admitted.

 

“But does the fear outweigh the hope?” Rhaenys asked, tucking aside her quill. “Falling in love is terrifying, really. How can love not make you afraid?”

 

Sansa suspected that if Desmera, Elinor, or one of the younger ladies were here, this would be a different argument. The others had not had their experiences, and would protest that love was nothing like fear.

 

But the three of them knew better, if in different ways.

 

“I think... “ Sansa sighed. “I think I shall tell Lord Edric that I want a quiet wedding, if it pleases him.”

 

“So… I shall ensure Arianne cannot arrive until the day before,” Rhaenys said, before adding a line to her papers.

 

Margaery let out a wild flutter of laughter.

~

 

Princess Lilias met Sansa at the door to the Queen’s chambers. At two-and-ten, she had inherited her mother’s mismatched eyes, though the straight black hair and her height might owe more to her father, from the little Sansa had seen of him. (Of course, Jon was quite tall as well.)

 

“Mother is upset,” Lilias said, clearly trying not to order Lady Dayne to fix it all. She took on her role as eldest seriously, enough so that there was occasionally some muttering amongst the Dornish. “And no one will tell me  _ anything _ .”

 

Sansa frowned, and thought of Harry’s letters, sent through an enchanted set of boxes that Albus Dumbledore had managed to find when trying to convince Rhaenys of his plan. He’d ensured that the King and Queen had received one, Harry had one, Dumbledore kept one, and Arianne had smiled and taken the last. Arianne had been astounded when Harry had told her about Sirius, who must have escaped a moon or so after King Willas had died.

 

Margaery, who had shocked everyone when she agreed to marry Andrey Dalt five years ago, had mused aloud if he’d been slipped out for a reason. But she was grieving, and Tyene and Nymeria Sand both doubted that was the case.

 

Sansa, who had Harry send all the detail he could find, doubted it as well. She and Tyene had pieced together how events unfolded.

 

Harry’s parents had been murdered by some villain from a mummer’s tale, who had, at the least, severely injured himself in the process. Sirius had given a newly-orphaned Harry to Rhaenys, explaining that he needed to do something “to keep them safe”. Rhaenys had been told by Peter Pettigrew that Sirius had died, and wanted to know if she had the boy. She had not heard from any of them again, but fled to a distant land, then was brought to the Wall.

 

Three years ago, Albus Dumbledore had come to King’s Landing trying to find the boy, and he had not entirely trusted Rhaenys. Georgiana Leigh had been a great help in explaining things, though the woman had gone on a rant worthy of a dockhand when she learned about Sirius.

 

“Not one of those motherfuckers thought to tell me, which just makes me think they…” she had let out a sound like an angry cat. “Renee is going to be  _ furious _ . Keeping that from her? Oh, dammit, what if one of them told Sirius? I don’t care what those…” she had kept up the tirade, which boiled down to three things.

 

That the story the wizards told was completely improbable, both given Georgiana and Rhaenys’ memories of the man and Rhaenys’ narrative. 

 

Secondly, that the wizards were at the very least trying to ignore that fact. Really, someone should have been told to look into the matter when they came to King’s Landing, at least. (After all, he hadn’t killed the boy, as had been commonly speculated, and with that gaping hole in the fabric of the story...)

 

Thirdly, that Rhaenys was not going to take the news well. Despite the rough start, Rhaenys had loved Willas, and took his death hard. Little Allyria was still only a few weeks old, and Margaery was four moons along with her child by the time she arrived back from her brother’s funeral.

 

Arianne would have gone, but there was a new dispute between the Yronwoods and the Fowlers, and Nymeria, of course, took the Fowler twins’ side. She might have sent Tyene, but Tyene’s syrupy smile was a weapon more terrifying then dragonfire.

 

So, of course, Georgiana decided to hunt him down and bring him to Rhaenys.

 

It had the virtue of being direct, at least.

 

Harry had helped, leaping into things with a relish that made sense when Sansa admitted that his friends in King’s Landing were all squires. He had been raised to try and fix problems, and had the authority to see it through.

 

(Rhaenys was hoping that he would choose to stay in Westeros, she knew, however much she might keep her silence on the matter.)

 

Of course, no one had told Rhaenys about this plan. Or, it turned out, that Sirius was still alive.

 

She had, true to predictions, not taken it well, hiding away with letters and petitions for the afternoon and not speaking to anyone. Lilias had been sent in with a tray of food last night, and again this morning.

 

Sansa also highly doubted that Lilias had no idea of what was going on, even with Septa Gwenys following her like a grey shadow. The girl was good at snooping, and she and Harry were as thick as thieves.

 

“That’s for your mother to explain,” Sansa said, pitching her voice to carry.

 

Rhaenys came out, arms crossed over her chest. 

 

The queen looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes and her cheekbones sharpened by lack of appetite. “Did you know?”

 

“A few days after Allyria was born,” she admitted. “That was why I traveled here to tell you. Unfortunately, we were all unable to leave, and this… we did not think you should have found out by raven.”

 

She stared at Sansa, expressions fluttering over her face. “I have Court today. Will you help me prepare?”

 

That was not a question, Sansa thought. “What did you want to wear?”

 

The dress was black silk with touches of red, with the swallow-tailed sleeves the queen and oldest princess loved. It went on easily, though Sansa had to make an extra fold held in place by the belt.

 

“Mama?” the girl asked, sounding quite young. “Is it true that the man Aunt Georgie found is…”

 

“Your father?” Rhaenys said, not looking in the silvered looking glass that had been a gift from a Bravosi ambassador. “He is. I wouldn’t…” The queen paused. “He didn’t choose what happened, and I didn’t know.”

 

“Oh,” Lilias said. Her brows were furrowed, and Sansa expected that she would soon let everyone know how foolish they were. “Could I… could I meet him? To ask questions? If he wants me, of course.”

 

“Oh, Lilias,” Rhaenys said, a crooked smile on her face. “Of course he’ll want you. He was a complete  _ idiot _ when he found out I was pregnant.”

 

“Worse than Papa?” Lilias asked, The King had been notorious for his joy whenever there was a new prince or princess- the Rose Garden for Matthew, Gardener’s Square for Alys, pushing through the Queen’s Riders for baby Aelinor. Princess Lilias had dancing masters, language tutors, and the like, but the King had taught her to ride himself, and dedicated at least part of each day to spending with the children.

 

Rhaenys laughed, and Sansa hoped Lilias didn’t notice the brittle note in it. “Not in the same style, but… oh, about the same level of intensity. Lilias, perhaps… we’ll see what we can do.”

 

Sansa unwound the Queen’s braid, watching as Rhaenys fiddled with her rings. One was gold, chased with enameled roses, twined around an emerald. The second was a coppery gold, with a simple diamond on it. One for each husband, Rhaenys had mentioned, in the lead up to Sansa’s wedding to Edric.

 

She ran the brush through Rhaenys’ hair, waiting for someone to talk. The princess, curious about her father, had taken an apple from the tray and headed out in a swish of bronze skirts. Sansa kept brushing out the curls, noticing the early silver strands that had started showing when Alys was born were continuing to spread. She’d be entirely white haired by the time she was forty, Sansa thought. It would make any lingering rumors of her not being a Targaryen harder to take root, she added. No one truly believed them anymore, but the remnants of Lannister poison could be hard to dislodge.

 

“I wasn’t sure if I should send her to Hogwarts,” Rhaenys said. “Remember the incident with those squires?”

 

Lilias had been eight then, Sansa remembered, and it had been about the time Margaery was getting married. An older boy had said something about her beloved aunt, and suddenly a brace of spears had rolled from a rack, one leaping into her hands.

 

The High Septon had been deeply troubled by this, and Rhaenys had acidly commented on bounties and Sparrows.

 

“I didn’t quite know how to go about getting tutors, without involving… well, Georgie could have tracked down Remus, by that point,” Rhaenys said. “And then Willas… well, it took longer than it really should have. I think I have someone who might be interested, though with Sirius here it might be difficult.”

 

“So he’s staying?” Sansa asked.

 

“Oh, I’m going to have  _ hell  _ to pay with the High Septon,” the Queen said, something stony in her features. The irregularities of the situation could throw her children’s inheritance into doubt, if allowed to get away from her. “But I doubt he’ll want to leave Harry or Lilias, and he’s not safe there. I’m not even entirely sure I want Harry to return to Hogwarts at this point. Before we learned how to use the portals, it was an unfortunate necessity, but…” She sighed. “I’ll deal with Court first, then the High Septon over lunch, and perhaps stroll the godswood to calm myself.” She shot a playful look at Sansa. “There are an awful lot of lords and ladies who have taken an interest in the Old Gods since my return. I suspect that the bit with the Wall collapsing and the fucking zombies might have something to do with it.”

 

“And since Jon was revealed to be your half-brother,” Sansa replied, dryly, starting the decorated braids that the queen used instead of a crown. Jon still lived in Winterfell, serving as castellan, coming by every other year to visit his sister, nieces, and nephew. Arya had never come, either, devoting herself to supporting Bran.

 

There had been letters, though, starting a year or so after Arya returned to Winterfell.

 

“I’ll need to talk to Sirius eventually, as well,” Rhaenys said. She looked terrified at the prospect. “I suspect we’ll both have explanations of what happened in the past twelve years. Closer to thirteen, actually, now that I think about it.”

 

“Your Grace,” Sansa said, not quite sure what she wanted to ask. But then she thought about Edric, the life she had in Starfall, the sea breezes and her husband’s bemused affection. “Do you love him still?”

 

“I never stopped, I’m afraid,” Rhaenys said. “Not that I didn’t love Willas, I do and I did, but…” 

 

“It was different?” Sansa suggested.

 

“Same intensity, different styles,” Rhaenys said, echoing her earlier words. “You know, I think they would have liked each other, in a different world.”

 

“Yes, but you couldn’t have married Willas if you knew Sirius was still alive,” Sansa pointed out.

 

“I’m actually not convinced that Lord Mace would have  _ cared _ ,” Rhaenys pointed out. Sansa could not argue with that, really. “Not unless Sirius was with me, and that would have changed everything.”

 

It would have, Sansa admitted, and not entirely for the better. The queen seemed to realize this, though.

 

“You should talk to him, though, and soon,” Sansa said. 

 

She gave a sickly smile, and went off to the throne room.

 

Sansa, who was not expected in court, decided that she needed to find Sirius, and explain the situation before anyone else did. 

 

Surely the man Rhaenys remembered would understand. And if not, well, Sansa was the wife of the Sword of the Morning, one of the Queen’s Ladies, and she had ways of making herself understood.

 

Rhaenys had saved her brothers, had restored her family to Winterfell, and convinced her to take another chance on love.

 

Sansa was going to repay that debt as best she could.


End file.
